


Day 7: My Only Friend, the End

by StarCrysis



Series: 365 Day Writing Challenge [4]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Insecurity, Memories, POV Theon, Poor Theon, Prose Poem, Self-Hatred, Theon-centric, poetic prose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-06
Updated: 2017-12-06
Packaged: 2019-02-11 04:45:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12927744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarCrysis/pseuds/StarCrysis
Summary: Strapped to a device and in pain, Theon walks the road of memories between the last time he saw Robb(S2E1), to the last time he saw anything. (Set waking up in Ramsay's dungeon for the first time, slightly off canon because I forgot about the bag oops)Original Tumblr Link: http://starcrysis.tumblr.com/post/168237034658/i-took-my-prompt-from-writers-digest-todayPrompt:http://www.writersdigest.com/prompts/the-end-of-the-road





	Day 7: My Only Friend, the End

It was as if he’d walked a road that stretched round the Earth. A pulsing burn surged through his strapped legs over and over. Who was he, again? Everything felt foggy, and not a light peeked his eyes as he pondered. Quick shallow breaths could soon be heard and he cried out a hoarse “Hello?!”

  
A reply didn’t come between the first shout and the last. A faint whimpering slicked with fear could now be heard. He began to step backward in his mind, retracing faint memorial footsteps.

  


A personal projection laid out, mirrored in the darkness. He saw a young man, not well over 20. The weakness inside shown just as much as the cockiness out. Green eyes played on his face, studying each face in the rows of heads before him. He would scream just a little too loudly, and think just a little too softly. He was completely unaware of the lack of faith surrounding him, and then, his world went black.

  


Shaking his head, the bound turncloak pressed his mind farther into reverse. It settled on a rousing speech, dangerously executed, coupled with auburn curls and Tully blue eyes. A hoarse cheer of “The King in the North!” echoed through tent flaps and into the night. He remembered the deep sound vibrating in his own chest, just the same.

  


But was it him? Rallied Lords began to disappear through tent flaps, as their voices had. A younger lad approached his King in earnest. Trusted friends began to exchange pleasantries, and he began to see who he was.

  


He mouthed out his plan to help the North. “He’ll listen to me,” was a now heard cry from the man who was quiet before. The one who was truly lost.

  


Who he was now was not a man as before, but as a bubbling entity, crept up from familial desires long past due. An entity of pride and envy, beginning to crust into a hard shell of animosity toward years past. The shell was a skin by the time he had stepped foot onto islands of iron.

  


Words forgotten; were they “now”? Or “forever”? No memory could confirm, though he knew somehow, that wasn’t right. Bustling into the Iron King’s chambers; reeking with confidence, he watched himself cower under hallowed patriarchal words. The familial desire was soured, and he had run to sea, warmed in salt, and transformed.

  


Eight traitorous tentacles roamed the sea toward the home of the man he was before. They leapt onto the Northern stone and set it ablaze. He was himself now; the man who yelled too loud, and thought too softly. Yet, looking over his twenty iron men, it still went black.

  


He didn’t know where he was now, but he knew who.

  


Theon Greyjoy.

  


A turncloak. A traitor. A lech who burned his home and ran out his family. A man who sold out his closest brother. His breath hitched and his mind wandered around where he was and why.

  


Harsh flame began to burn into the room, and when his eyes began to adjust, he awaited the cold gaze of Robb Stark; his best friend, his king, and soon to be, his executioner.

  


He would spend a lifetime waiting.


End file.
